


An Exploration on Life Post Apocalypse-That-Never-Was

by bleepbloopbee



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Character Study, Developing Relationship, M/M, Post-Canon, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-11
Updated: 2019-12-11
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:49:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21760093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bleepbloopbee/pseuds/bleepbloopbee
Summary: A short character study on our favorite demon and angel in their new, post apocalypse-that-never-was.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Kudos: 9





	An Exploration on Life Post Apocalypse-That-Never-Was

**Author's Note:**

> After reading (quite frankly too many) GO fics, I had the writing bug! Since I've never written these two before though, I wanted to do just a short fic to get into the right headspace. So it's not much, just a cute little character exploration while I start to write some bigger fics.

Crowley, by nature, won’t admit to a lot of things. But he _will_ admit that not having to worry about Hell breathing down his neck is an absolute _relief._

In his six thousand years of existence, he had gotten used to this weight on his shoulders. It was heavy and suffocating, and he just had to learn how to live with it. But now that the weight has been lifted, he didn’t realize how claustrophobic it made him until it was gone.

Now, he didn’t have to be wary of sudden intrusions on his life-- No more Hastur popping up on his television screen, or Ligur cutting into his car’s radio, or even bloody _Satan_ taking his mind hostage to give him orders. 

He was free, and god damn it was blessed.

\-------------------

They’re at the point where knocking on each other’s doors is not necessary. Sure, Crowley’s strolled into the bookshop before, but it was usually only when he knew the angel would be in. It's now come to the point that he'll show up whenever.

For instance, this morning, Aziraphale walks down the stairs and there Crowley is, lounging with limbs sprawled across the sofa. 

“Hello,” Aziraphale greets plainly. This is not the first time this has happened. He’s about at the point of just telling Crowley to come up to his little flat above the shop. The sofa up there is comfier than the one in the shop. (If that’s even possible of course-- Aziraphale is a sucker for a good, comfortable piece of furniture. Every sittable piece he owns is incredibly plush.)

“Morning Angel,” Crowley drawls. His sunglasses are riding low on his nose. Aziraphale catches a glimpse of those yellow irises, then Crowley pushes them back up.

“Too exhausted to walk home again, hm?” Aziraphale sets his cup on the edge of his desk. It’s full of tea, with a dash of milk swirling inside. 

Crowley makes a noise, something throaty and noncommittal. 

Under the glasses, Crowley’s eyes slip shut. He shifts, obviously settling in.

After all these years, Aziraphale doesn’t have a clue on why Crowley finds sleeping so appealing. He doesn’t understand the comfort of slipping into unconsciousness… but to be fair, Crowley feels the same about food. 

To each their own, he supposes. 

“The sofa upstairs is more comfortable dear,” Aziraphale offers. 

Crowley’s eyes open once more. His eyebrows raise.

“That’s a little forward,” he comments quietly.

Aziraphale doesn’t know whether to laugh or to sigh. He settles on a loving eye roll. “You’ve been more forward before.”

Crowley stutters out the beginnings of multiple words, then ultimately decides to not even bother trying to come up with anything coherent. He presses his lips in a flat line, looking awkwardly at the angel. Thank God, Satan, or quite frankly _whoever_ , that his sunglasses hide just how truly awkward he is. Because they have not said a word about it, but both remember Aziraphale’s _you go too fast for me_. 

Enough time has passed, and both have gone through the world almost ending, to mutually believe that that statement no longer applies. But of course, since they have not spoken about it, neither is 100% sure.

“I would prefer you be up there anyway,” Aziraphale says after a few long silent seconds. “You would scare the customers.”

Crowley snorts. He sits up, swinging his legs off the cushions. “Your tactics to keep them from buying are more terrifying than I am.”

Aziraphale smiles, almost bashful. It’s not outright _scaring_ , it’s just… carefully worded statements. 

Crowley laughs again, a little louder than before, as he stands. 

“Still have some of that wine from last time?” He asks as he starts to head off towards the stairs. 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale sighs softly. “It’s not even lunchtime yet--”

“Ah, nonsense!” Crowley shrugs. He leans against the door frame, one foot resting on the bottom step of the stairs that lead up to Aziraphale’s little flat. “What’s that that the American’s say? It’s 5 o’clock somewhere?” 

Aziraphale sighs again. He knows that there is zero use in arguing with the demon when it comes to finely aged alcohol. 

He picks up his tea cup, which doesn’t have even a sip missing out of it, and takes them both upstairs.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/Bailey8GM), where my account is a mix of way too many interests and fandoms. I talk about a lot of stuff, and I'm always open to talk to y'all!! 💙💙


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